A Game of Owned
by SailorSilvanesti
Summary: [Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons, High School AU] Jack Frost, Merida Dunbroch, Hiccup Haddock and Rapunzel Solaris are popular for all manner of different reasons at NightFury High. But what they are most known for, is their pranks. An intricate story of their biggest prank (for graduation), and backstory... and how two couples found one another. [Jack/Hiccup, Merida/Rapunzel].


**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the fandoms or characters associated with ****_BRAVE_****, ****_TANGLED,_****_How to Train Your Dragon_**** or ****_Rise of the Guardians_****.**

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**This was initially a Fanfiction Request... and it grew exponentially into a multi-chapter monster.**

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**For: **midgardianmindplace [Tumblr]

**Fandom:** THE BIG FOUR [Jack Frost, Hiccup, Rapunzel & Merida]/_Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons_

**Pairing:** Jack/Hiccup

**Notes/Specifics: **High School AU, 'cute fluff/romance', prank.

**_Alternate Universe/Timeline Fanfic._**

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**~*A GAME OF OWNED*~**

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'Och, are you _sure_ about including the poor wee lamb in this one, Jack?" the redhead to his immediate right asked for possibly the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes, a severe jerk of the head indicating the timid-looking young man across the room from them. If they were caught… of all of them, he stood to lose the most…

The brunette they were both throwing surreptitious glances at visibly cringed when he heard the loud, deliberate stage whisper;-just as he had the thousand other times that the school archery champion had questioned his presence in **_the plan_**.

Doleful green eyes hit the pair with such force, it was all Jack could do to stop himself leaping across the room to hold the adorable guy…

He punched Merida in the arm with just enough force to grab her attention to what he growled next, "_Enough, Mer_! He's here because he's a smart, brilliant, _wonderful _person with just the right skillset to get the job done, alright? And besides that, he WANTS to be here no matter what. So, no more of this… this… _SPANISH INQUISITION –ing _you have going!"  
Jack added a flourish to his speech that was every bit as Shakespearean as it was dramatic. Not surprising given that the deceptively delicately-featured teen was recently voted as, _'Most Likely to Become an Actor'_ after a big-time television representative had sat in on the last school play –_of which he was the lead, naturally_- and approached the white-haired teen with an intention to sign him there and then.

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Turns out, they were someone's aunt sitting in on the production in order to justify signing their own nephew–_who had been playing a rather attractive tree in the background_- to some random soap opera for daytime viewing; the ludicrously dressed woman ended up finding herself unable to walk away without at least speaking to his parents, (or '_legal guardians'_ as she put it rudely when she realized the situation), about a future career in an upcoming serial drama –and television in general. He had decidedly played the charming, flattered child, but merely glared at her when her back was turned, abhorred at woman's terrible attitude when it came to meeting, and speaking with, his parents.

After much falsified pandering from one 'Ms. Jane Heddgecoomb of _Quintessential Studios_', his dads had said they would think about it, if only to get her to stop talking. She had wanted on the spot confirmation of signage, but they were unwilling to give permission for anything until after graduation, which was only a few short weeks away, at the time –because 'Father' had always been a stickler for making certain he had the proper education before anything else.  
Of course, the slur she had made at their refusal –_behind their backs of course_- had sealed the deal of for Jack, but he didn't tell his dads what she'd said; the best thing he could do would be to reject her offer and give someone else the chance to discover him. Besides, if they both agreed to the idea of getting him a manager, he would finally have an in-road to discuss the offer his Uncle had made the other day…

That is, for Uncle P to introduce him to his own personal manager from _Nightmare Industries Inc_. which would be totally awesome as far as Jack was concerned.

Later on, when they'd gotten home, Jack had heard them arguing in the kitchen about the whole '_acting thing_', as he had been wiping the excessive amounts of stage make-up off his face in the upstairs bathroom; their echoing accents competing over one another to be heard.

Small wonder some of his newer friends often leant over and whisperingly questioned what one or the other had said to them. It was a miracle in itself the two had ever met, given they had been on opposing ends of the globe for the majority of their lives… and yet here they were, the only parents Jack had ever known for _his_ entire life. From what the caseworkers had told him, his own biological ones had long since abandoned him in the emergency room of a small hospital a few towns over, with a note that simply said, '_I'm Sorry, Jack_' pinned to the tiny bundle of infant; leaving no indication of whose he was.

Occasionally at night he wondered about his parents, if they thought of him, what they looked like… if he had siblings… another family out there beyond his Dad and Father. Not that he didn't love them, that is…

Jack couldn't imagine _not _being a Frost, with all his whacky extended aunts and uncles and cousins… but there were times he looked into the mirror and wondered who he really was. Jack… who?

At times like that, he liked to go and find Dad or Father and just sit with them, quietly, not saying a thing; and they knew, because somehow he always ended up being embraced and told he was the best thing that had ever happened to them. That he was perfect, brilliant, clever, their little miracle and a thousand other words of comfort where every syllable was as heart-felt and precious as gold. Jack truly loved his family like nothing on this earth; he couldn't imagine life without them, in all honesty.

There was tall, slim Father with oddly bluish hair that boasted a flare of white in a streak down the side; all manner of tattoos covering his tanned body and his strong Australian accent was warm and comforting. While he did have a sense of humour, certain things irked the man… and his 'wonderful' son was not above exploiting that on occasion for a bit of harmless fun.

Jack often watched silly American movies and cartoons with supposedly 'Australian' characters in it, just to hear his father abandon whatever he was doing to storm into the room with murderous intent, right eye twitching, finger up in the perfect parental 'let me tell you a thing' pose and the '_That's not Aussie, THIS is Aussie_' rant boiling close to the surface. The man hated those false accents like nothing else on the planet… and it was kind of fun to see Father in a rage, because although excessively passionate, it was unusual to see him flustered or angry.

Oh, Jack didn't do it too often, of course, he did want to _live _after all.

Not that he was ever in danger of harm, though… in fact, try as he might, Jack couldn't for the life of him remember a time when he had been even smacked for a wrong-doing by his parents. His dads were not exactly hippies with the whole, '_let the childrendo what they want_' mentality, rather they used a 're-directive' methodology to correct him when he erred as a little (and as his aunt tells it, _destructive)_ tyke.

Probably still used the method even now, though if they were, they were being quite subtle about it…

Father's real name was Edmund, and he was something of an author, mostly famous for a variety of children's series that delighted millions, but always under the infuriating pseudonym 'E.B.' for 'Easter Bunny'; it was a little joke he and Jack had had when he was three… and it stuck. Very few people knew who the renowned 'E.B.' was, which was fortunate, because some of his fanbase were (for lack of a better description) _raving, screaming lunatics with some of the most disturbing fanfictions Jack had ever read_. Uh, not that… _he_ ever… really went for… _that kind of stuff_… of course…

_Certainly _didn't have his own account on the books' fanfiction sites… nope, no way, _not on your li-_… well, maybe he'd written a few dozen stories… or more like, kind of… closer to three hundred or so?

He had started to think Father was onto him, though, one night; because the infuriatingly intelligent man had randomly begun mentioning a very familiar username when he talked about his favourite fanfiction 'author' at the dinner table. The gleam in his eye as he spoke to his _trying-very-hard-to-feign-ignorance-and-failing_ son stated he had known more than he was letting on; suspicion rose as the teen's mind ticked over. Father's work left him home almost all the time, except for every odd Tuesday when he spoke on a national broadcast radio station to fans under his pseudonym; so he often surprised Jack after school, when the teen was on the computer, to tell him little things about upcoming novels that-… _Oh._

It was then that Jack had had **_the epiphany to end all epiphanies_**.

Father had been giving him dribs and drabs of errant information about his stories since he was little, things that never ended up in the books themselves; though maybe in an 'ultimate guidebook' to the series in question, a few years after the last book was published. Things he put in his fanfictions and, oh Man in the Moon, _Father knew_. He was doomed.

Apparently, the panicked look he had been giving his mashed potatoes had clicked with Father, because the man had laughed loudly for a good, long minute before quietly stating, "I knew, Jack, and in all honesty, I'm pretty flattered actually. You have talent in writing, and I'm proud of you… though I have to ask you –without judgment, mind you, little mate- if what I have read in some of your fictions is the explanation for some of your more disturbing Google searches. _We had been wondering_… you know, a boy at your age has certain needs, and we understand if-…"

Jack's blue eyes had gone wide, like a deer in headlights, and failed to respond. Noting that there was not likely to be an answer forthcoming anytime soon, Father had waved the matter away, smiling broadly. From the far end of the table, Dad barked out a laugh and continued to eat, letting them natter on silly topics for the rest of meal.

Then there was Dad; a tall, jolly figure in his memories of childhood, and yet also a calm, rational person who would put someone through a wall with his bare fists if they dared to look at Jack the wrong way. The tattoos lining the man's broad, muscled arms had always fascinated him when he was little, and sitting on Dad's lap, watching the man create something fantastic from seemingly nothing. A Toymaker and creator of dreams, the name of Nathan Frost was synonymous with quality, ingenuity and fun all over the globe; at first a small-time toy-shop owner, he was now a consultant for many big-name toy brands.

Basically, they paid him to create fantastic things, and then even more to show them how to make them as well; certainly, the idea his creations were being mass-produced irked Dad on occasion, but the man was never above taking an individual order from a child who really wanted something specific. He would do it for a coin, a lollipop or pocket lint… whatever they wanted to give him was a wondrous gift to the hulking man. Dad would always smile and tell them that it was the perfect payment, that he would have it ready by the next day, and then spend all night making their dream come true…

Father always laughed when Jack brought it up, how Dad would push aside a dozen orders from toy companies around the globe to finish a special request from a little girl or boy; and the tanned man would smile, and kiss the larger toymaker's bearded cheek as he told their son, _'That's why I love him.'_  
Always eliciting deep laughs from Dad, who would always then reach over to pet Jack on the head, or ruffle his hand through the silky white strands of his hair while he intoned in that special way he did, "_But we love you most, Jack, you are special._"

They never let him forget that, either.

He was told something like that every day, just to remind him how important he was to them; it was an important ritual based on the past, and reached far into the future.  
Sometimes, mostly when he was little, but occasionally even now… Jack would wake up in a blind panic. Fingers clenching the bed-sheets convulsively , his breath coming out as short, ragged pants as the thought that this was not real raced through his mind over and over again until the pressure within built up to the point that it erupted in terrible screams of fear and anguish.

He always ended up sobbing into the shoulder of whichever parent reached him first, a sure-fire method that soothed the anxieties in the moment and invited exhaustion to reclaim the pale child. But it never went away, not completely.

For some reason Jack always seemed unable to shake the feeling that this life was a dream and soon he would have to wake up; or worse yet, this was real, and if he did something -_anything at all_, wrong- he would be left alone again. This was not a fear that had been born from his own mind, though… no, it was forced upon him a long time ago and the twisted seed had taken root in his subconscious; gripping his heart with fear in the dead of night.

The caseworker assigned to him when he was first taken into care as an infant had always impressed upon him from their earliest meeting, that if he ever found a family, he would be lucky; and that Jack would have to be polite, respectful and sweet at all times, no matter what was asked of him. Merely because a difficult, loud, greedy, sickly child was troublesome, and too much bother.

True, his parents had adopted him as an infant -all of five months old and already well ahead of the others in crawling, baby-talk and stunning good looks . He had apparently been in a nappy commercial at one point, but that was never talked about again, because it always made Jack flush scarlet when he thought of his naked behind flashed to the world through the medium of television.

However, given his status as an abandoned child, and the adoption process, it meant continued liaison with the Department of Children's Services. And although the large, oddly-manicured woman (who always smelled strongly of funny flowers) scared him when he was small, he took her words to heart.

Children always trust too easily.

In the few minutes alone they had each month for their check-in meeting, 'Shannia' would always drill into young Jack that he had to behave, or his new parents would call her to take him away, and he didn't want _that _now, did he?  
Jack remembered shaking his head so strongly he'd given himself a headache and begun to cry, at which point, Dad had caved the _locked _door of the room in, while Father demanded to know what she was saying to upset him. The woman had smiled sweetly and responded with, 'Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you.' as Father picked him up and handed him to Dad, forestalling the larger man from pounding the woman through the carpeted floor with his bare fists.

That had scared Jack, the idea that he had upset them; not the fact that his dads might be violent because of him… so he cried even harder, thinking that this meant he had to go and live with the awful lady now. They left quite quickly after that, with the woman's manager trying to alternate between placating the angry pair of parents and telling 'Shannia' off for what he had seen on the small interview room's surveillance tape.

He barely remembered anything after that, other than the deep red of Dad's jumper, which his pudgy four-year-old fists clutched tightly, 'like a baby koala', Father had said gently while trying to pry him loose and place Jack into his snowflake-covered car seat.

He never told them, not even when they drove away, or when Father held him on his lap that night as they watched the Wiggles movie he'd gotten for his birthday the month before; they must have guessed something was wrong, because he remembered crying all the way to bed, long after his headache had been settled by some nasty-tasting cherry medicine. The little boy had drifted to sleep with Father's hand stroking his hair, and the angry sounds of Dad yelling into the phone downstairs.

No matter that he never had to see the woman ever again, and was given a lovely elderly woman named Jane, for a caseworker, who treated him like a grandchild; Shannia's message was stuck in his head, resonating in every inch of his subconscious. So he tried to be quiet, helpful and obedient, never demanding a thing or telling his new parents if he was ill, because he never wanted to worry them. Just being with them was reward enough for suffering through little bouts of sadness all children deal with, completely by himself.

It wasn't until one occasion when eight-year-old Jack had managed to conceal a rather high fever until it got so bad he collapsed in the lounge room –_batman pyjamas soaked through with sweat_- and had to be rushed to the hospital, that they caught on. That night, when he was stabilized, his parents sat by his bedside and explained that no matter what he did, he was stuck with them. That was the exact phrasing they used, _stuck with __them_. Those three words made such a difference.

The child Edmund and Nathan Frost took home the following Friday was a slightly louder, more boisterous, energetic, artistic and fun-loving creature than the one they had frantically rushed to the medical center a week earlier. He had finally learned it was okay to make Music (well technically 'noise' was a more accurate description), Mess and Mistakes; the '_three M's'_ as Father would smile.

As a child, Jack's room had been utterly filled with every toy the pale little boy could ever even think to want; almost as if they saw his deepest dreams and desires -_things he would never think to ask for in case it made him seem like a greedy brat_- and made them real to please him. Yes, the only thing that ever stopped his Dad from finishing a toy for a 'special order' was if he felt Jack needed something special… usually when he was ill, which happened rather frequently, annoyingly enough.

Jack loved the snow, it was the one thing that exasperated his parents no end; the moment white powder touched the ground, the boy would be out in it; regardless of what clothes he was wearing… or lacking. Father usually rolled his eyes and shoved Dad out the door to deal with him; Dad loved the snow too, he had grown up with it, while Father had little tolerance for the cold and only seemed to revive on days in Summer when the sun beat down oppressively.

If Jack could not be caught immediately, and that was a usual occurrence, then a snowball fight usually ensued; tiny frozen missiles whizzing back and forth across the front lawn as Father stared out the front window, a steaming cup of cocoa in one hand and a small smile of contentment on his face as he watched 'his boys' enjoy themselves. It was always about the part when the pair began to create a snowman that he would leave the viewing spot and wander off into the house, fetching warm clothes and running steaming-hot baths in the separate bathrooms for when the pair decided to burst back inside in the next few minutes; chilled to the core but content.

Despite Father's foresight, four times out of every ten forays into '_that bloody mad white stuff out there_', Jack tended to catch some illness or other that dampened the boy's spirit for a short while; but never enough to act as a cautionary tale and prevent Jack from doing the exact same mad dash into the snow that landed him unwell in the first place, the moment he got better again.

Still, despite his snow-born eccentricities, he knew his parents loved him deeply. They were the best family he could have asked for…

Oh, there was Aunty Tootiana and Uncle Sandy too, and his few dozen cousins –he'd lost track of exactly how many of them there were or what they were all called by now, but always managed to end up under a pile of giggling little girls whenever they came to visit. Heh, Jack had always held a sneaking suspicion that if he'd asked for it, a small army of adoring little girls would overrun the Earth and installed him as supreme leader; and there were days where he couldn't deny he was sorely tempted to mention it to one of the 'Baby Toots'. They all resembled their mother, but had their father's sandy-golden hair…

Aunty Toot was a dentist, so naturally that meant he was given an impromptu check-up everytime she came around, and he had to hide any non-sugar-free candy lying about the house; or he'd get a heck of a lecture… but she was such a sweet person. Always ahead of the chaos, calm in the face of _small giggling girl-a-geddon_, organized, had a bit of a thing for flashy professional wear, was kind and fiercely protective of her girls –_and Jack_, of course- his Aunt was just the _best _person. She was married to Dad's twin brother, Uncle Sandy; who was the most fascinating artist Jack had ever seen, able to express things that words simply couldn't.

The story his Grandfather Manny had told the boys when they were little was that Grandmother Luna had caught a particularly nasty strain of rubella while she was pregnant with the pair of them, resulting in a few unusual discrepancies. For twins, the two looked nothing alike; where Dad was tall, bearded and loud, Uncle Sandy was short, clean-shaven, of golden-hair and silence –he'd been born mute, you see. Not that that had ever stopped Uncle Sandy from getting his point across… though his parents had warned the shorter man that a few of his… er… 'hand-signals' were definitely out of the question in their household…

Seeing them together was always an odd experience.

There was also this one odd Uncle, Father's half-brother or something, they looked absolutely nothing alike, had different accents and fought like-… well, for some reason the analogy 'rabbits and foxes' always came to mind rather than 'cats and dogs', oddly enough; though the pair never sparred verbally in front of him, it was like a silent agreement the two had made. Father tolerated the inclusion of Pitch simply because he just adored being an uncle, and was always there to lend a hand; he just wanted to be involved. Grudgingly, Father allowed it only because of how much Jack adored him in return, and what a brilliant influence the man was on his son.

Jack always smiled and greeted Uncle 'Pitch' as warmly as he could, but usually by the end of any visit, it was a bit of a free-for-all sass-fest between the two; kind of felt like having an older best-friend-slash-mentor. Uncle Pitch was a bit of a celebrity at the moment, having recently played a small role in a huge up-coming action blockbuster with several well-known names… he was Jack's secret weapon. Helping him to improve his acting abilities and self-confidence in general; taking him from the shy, nervous, teen always contriving to be invisible in a room full of people… to the school's darling pin-up boy, in under two years. As his uncle always said, '_It's all about confidence, Jack.'_

And now his Uncle's tutelage had paid off, it seemed, Jack recalled thinking as he listened to their parents loudly discussing the prospect of him as an actor.

Dad was being jovial and excited at the wondrous prospect of having raised a future 'big screen actor', whereas Father was not so enthusiastic, probably already fretting over the potential stressors coming their son's way if he did pursue a career in acting. To be fair, Jack had worked hard in school and was pretty decent in biology, which meant he would always have the grades to slide right on in to medical school if acting didn't pan out… but he kind of hoped it did. Because he knew a certain someone who might be a pretty good trophy husband… er, not that he'd ever actually talked to the guy yet; more like longing from afar…

Heh… kind of a necessity if you'd seen the kid's dad. Even in pictures it was plain to see that he was one HUGE fellow…

In any case, the two had eventually ended up talking it out and decided that now was not a good time, not with graduation that close; and Father just wasn't sold on that woman being his manager at all. Father had still seemed upset about something, you could feel the tension in the air.

Finally, Jack had heard him say, "Did you hear what that bloody woman said when our backs were turned, Nate? Did you? She probably didn't realize I've got ears like a rabbit and could hear her, the _rude bi-_…"

"Be that as it may, my little warrior bunny," intoned Dad over the top of the coming profanity, using the pet name for Father that always calmed him down no matter what –_though neither would explain the context of it to Jack, as of yet_. "You must remember our little snowflake can probably hear us from up there, can you not Jack?"

He had quite literally started so badly he'd fallen off the stool and taken out half the contents of the bathroom sink as he went, before guiltily replying, "Uh… m-maybe? I mean… perhaps a _litt_-… yeah, I was listening. Sorry…" he paused, "I, uh… didn't think you heard what she said, but I was going to ask you not to sign me to her." His voice was raised so they could hear it from the downstairs area, and it had echoed oddly off the walls of the navy blue tiled bathroom.

As he stood up, hastily snatching the tubes of toothpastes, tubs of hair gel, a bottle of mouthwash, someone's hand-cream, and a displaced bar of lavender-soap from all over the bathroom floor; Jack remembered waiting for a reply with bated breath, and only receiving ruminative silence. Suddenly, footsteps echoed on the stairs.

Dad pushed open the thick white door, amusement animated his face as the full scale of the teen's accidental destruction of the bathroom; Jack smiled up at him with a caught-with-hand-in-cookie-jar expression, arms full of toiletries and many more lying about at his feet. The expression softened as a certain slick bar of soap made its quick get-away straight out of the pale palm holding it and shot across the floor…

"That wasn't meant to do that…" Jack had laughed nervously, dumping the rest of the items on the counter and slid across the tiles in his socks in pursuit of the errant lavender-scented escapee. A large hand clamped onto his shoulder, and he froze instinctively; slowly turning to face his dad with the best puppy-pout-cross-'_don't ground me_' expression he could muster.

"Jack," his name always came out with a strange rolling warmth when Dad said it, "Your Father and I are sorry you had to hear zat, it was not meant for you… but we have decided, as you have no doubt heard my sneaky little snowflake, zat if you want to pursue acting in future we will support you. You know this… but your Father and I, we feel zat…" here the man made a shaky-hand gesture to support his words, "…zat woman did not have your best interests at heart, so we will speak to your Uncle Pitch about _his _agent."

At the excited glance Jack gave him, the man hummed pleased that his son was happy; the lanky teen flung himself at his Dad and hugged him as best he could, arms not quite reaching around the middle enough to touch, his father laughing happily at the action. He loved the rumbling vibrations that tingled through him when his Dad let out a deep, belly-laugh…

"BUT," Father had interjected, "as brilliant as you are at acting, little mate, we won't be discussing this until after you graduate… and you will be applying to whatever college you want, for medicine or whatever you decide. Now, I know that seems like we're-… well _I'm_ being unfair… but this is really all about what's in your best-…"

He was cut off as the white-haired teen flung himself at the Australian parental unit, hugging him tightly about the chest; Father's expression was one of confusion, brain still stuck back on the rather bungled _'We love you, so we're making this decision for you'_ speech he'd worked hard on while coming up the stairs.

A tanned hand found it's way into the white hair tickling his chin, ruffling it, "Ah, skipper, look at you… all grown up and still has time for a hug…"

Peering upward had rewarded Jack with a vision of his Father looking somewhat softer than usual, but also flushed; tenderness was not an innate emotion generally portrayed by the Aussie author, not under normal circumstances anyway. Jack smirked, because he knew the bruffness was only semi-serious, the majority of it was a front Father used to maintain his image; though the teen never doubted his father could kick the tar out of anyone who threatened him… he'd witnessed it with his own awe-stricken eyes on two separate occasions.

"Ho, he takes after you very much, my dear Bunnymund," Dad said, beaming with pride and swept them both into a hug as both Jack and Father mock-protested.

"Alright, Nate… that's enough!" laughed Father, "Certain people in this hug have to be up at insane hours of the morning to go speak on a radio, you know… kinda _need the ability to breathe_ in order to do that. Oh, and I know a _certain person_ has a Biology final in first period, so I'll be sure to wake that person up on my way out…"

Jack groaned dramatically and slid to the floor the moment he was released, "Ugh, all these exams… I swear it's driving me nuts… why can't they just let me graduate already?" He gave his parents a long-suffering glance before adding, "Why does growing up have to be so _haaaaaaaaaaaard_?", trying to really sell the performance with the sad expression he was now sporting, and was rewarded with synchronised eye-rolls, and raised eyebrows.

Dad barked out a laugh and lifted the lanky teen over his shoulder, ignoring the wiggling and protesting Jack immediately began in response. "Would you prefer to be our little _itty-bitty baby Jack_ again, instead? Is this so? It is? Then so we shall! Come along, my bunny, we must tuck our precious little snowflake into bed and read him a story…"

Jack had gone red in the face between fits of giggles he would never admit to having the next day, gently pounding his fists against whatever parts of his father he could reach from his undignified position of slung over a broad, red-clad shoulder; there was a tinge of embarrassment in his cheeks, flaring like a beacon.

That night had been one of great hilarity, involving the pair of them acting as if he was merely a very large four year old once again; from the 'have you brushed your teeth?', and tucking in the _highly embarrassed-but-secretly-loving-it _teen, to the two reading him one of the stories he loved as a child, and saying goodnight with a caution about bed-bugs as they shut off the light. Sure, he may be seventeen years old, but it still felt nice to have parents who really cared like that…

His dreams that night had been filled with exciting possibilities of what his future might hold after graduation…

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**_To Be Continued..._**

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So, that was chapter one... I'm re-reading and editing the others at the moment.

Let me know if you liked it, or hated it.

_**~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~**_


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